


The Knights Get Merlin Drunk. You Won’t Believe What Happens Next!

by howshouldipresume



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Declarations Of Love, Drunk Merlin (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Darkest Hour, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howshouldipresume/pseuds/howshouldipresume
Summary: Where the Knights of Camelot, who are feeling rather somber after having lost Lancelot, decide to cheer themselves up by getting Merlin drunk, and Arthur absolutely does not hide in a wardrobe to figure out exactly why Sirs Leon and Gwaine swear this is the most effective way to raise morale.(or: who knew that a drunk Merlin gives inspiring, heartfelt speeches? Well, everyone but Arthur of course.)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 740





	The Knights Get Merlin Drunk. You Won’t Believe What Happens Next!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oddishly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/gifts).



> This was intended to be your grad gift three years ago and now it is your grad gift for then AND this year because fortunately for me, your accomplishments are unending!!! Good job you!! This was at one point inspired by your #pinnedtweet. Obviously, I told myself if I didn’t finish this in quarantine, I wasn’t allowed to keep you as a friend.

His parry too weak to stop the attack, Sir Baudwin lost his grip on his sword and he dropped to his knees. He held his breath at the feel of the blade at his neck. It was over.

Arthur sighed, and lowered his sword, extending a hand to help his knight up.

“Sir Baudwin. This is the third training where you have fallen to a similar attack sequence.”

The young knight bowed his head, rubbing a hand through his shorn brown hair. “Yes sire, you are right. I apologize, I must practice harder on the strength of my parry.”

Arthur shook his head with a frown. “Your parry was fine. In fact, so is your footwork. Your problem lies in how mechanical your movements are. I barely have to lift a finger to disengage your attacks. Your fighting is as tired as you seem.”

He paused and squinted at his knight, concern deepening his frown. 

“Are you sick? Having trouble sleeping?”

Baudwin straightened up to meet the King’s eyes. “No, sire. I am well-rested.”

Arthur nodded but the concern didn’t leave his face. He sheathed his sword with careful thought.

“Then the issue comes from the heart.”

“Sire?”

“Let me ask you Sir Baudwin, what do you fight for?”

Baudwin startled a bit but his reply was automatic. “For Camelot, of course.”

The prince huffed. “Of course. As a knight you stand and fight for Camelot. But what does Baudwin fight for?” he pressed.

Baudwin opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. He glanced away from the prince to his fellow knights, as if expecting to see the answer among them. Noticing his hesitancy, Arthur decided to take a different approach.

Arthur stepped back to address and raised his voice to address the rest of the knights. “Gather around. This is an important thought for all of you.” He waited for his men to pause their own trainings and gather closer.

“I know the loss of Lancelot and our other brethren has been hard on all of us. We lost more than a knight but a brother in arms. But we cannot afford to lose our faith, especially with Morgana’s threat looming over this kingdom. In the heat of battle there are times when technique will not be enough, when your life and the lives of our people will rest not on the strength of your sword but that of your heart. You cannot let your only motivation in winning a fight be a fear of death.

“You must find something that drives you even when you are training, when your life is not at risk. What is it you fight for? Why have any of you chosen to become knights? I know all of you stand for Camelot but if that is not enough, I press you to dig deeper and find something more personal that gives you strength. That can ground you when the time comes.”

Arthur let his words sink in. He looked around the group, noting their tired eyes and sagging shoulders. Only Gwaine stared back at him with his usual gall. Percival stared searchingly up at the sky. Leon, brow furrowed, was doing his own appraisal of the knights. It was too easy to see the toll the last few weeks had taken on the men. He wanted to give them a purpose, a meaning to all that was happening. But the truth was, Arthur barely knew himself what he was fighting for anymore.

It was times like this he missed his father the most.

He straightened and cleared his throat trying to figure out how to break the silence that had grown. He looked to Elyan who stood to his left and gave him a pointed nudge.

“Well, we all know Gwaine fights to enjoy that next tankard of ale,” Elyan said taking the hint, with a half-hearted grin. That did the trick. The knights relaxed and chuckled in agreement.

Gwaine gave a good-natured wink. “Hey, I will have you know sometimes it’s the thought of a friendly barmaid more so than the drinks she’s pouring.” He made some crude gestures with his hands which made Percival roll his eyes and shove him off-balance. Gwaine futilely shoved him back with a laugh and there was a brief tussle as the rest of the knights crowded around.

Arthur smiled absently and watched as Leon separated the two and closed out the training for the day. He turned, lost in his own thoughts and began to walk off the training field, failing to notice the significant look Gwaine and Leon shared behind him.

* * *

Back in his chambers, Arthur stared out his window as Merlin took off his armour. Most of the knights had gone but he could see a few still on the field. Elyan appeared to be helping Baudwin with some footwork while Percival looked on with the occasional interruption. Gwaine and Leon stood off to the side, heads close together in discussion. They had all been subdued in the days and weeks since Lancelot’s sacrifice. But the grief has also brought them closer together.

Tightening around an open wound in hopes that it would close.

Arthur sighed and shifted slightly as Merlin moved to unfasten his chest plate. Before his father had…become ill, Arthur would stick around after training as well. He missed being able to spend time with his knights more casually, share in their friendship instead of just being their new ruler. Since taking on the full responsibility of the kingdom he had come to realize he could not afford taking such liberties. Any kind of relief had been rare in the weeks since Lancelot’s pyre. Even Merlin was unusually quiet these days. In fact—

“Merlin.”

Merlin looked up at him, pausing in his action. “Yes Sire?”

Arthur took a moment to study his face. Merlin had taken Lancelot’s death almost as hard as Guinevere. It had taken a long time for Arthur to see Merlin without tears in his eyes—a long time to see him at all, really. For a while it seemed Merlin could barely stand to look at him and had avoided Arthur. Even now, there was a constant worry etched into his expression. Since Guinevere had told him Lancelot had promised her that he would protect Arthur’s life with his own, Arthur was stuck in a miserable pool of guilt. Yet somehow the way Merlin had been acting made him feel even worse.

Merlin, who had in the face of so many great dangers, always kept the humor to remind Arthur of the good. Who had had looked into his eyes not long ago and told him they would defeat the Dorocha with a confidence Arthur still didn’t understand, knowing that Merlin had been afraid too. It was a familiar conviction, one that Arthur had long accepted would follow Merlin whether they were facing down bandits or dragons, so long as they were together.

But that was before Lancelot. It seemed to Arthur he may have finally committed the one offense that had cost Merlin’s faith in him. Seeing Merlin’s trust be replaced with concern for the kingdom Arthur was leading—the thought shook Arthur’s own self-confidence more than he thought possible.

“Arthur?”

There was that troubled tone again, further reflected in Merlin’s eyes. Merlin had always felt comfortable to be quite outspoken, even irritatingly so, whenever he disagreed with Arthur’s actions. He didn’t even have to disagree to say whatever was on his mind. That had changed somehow. Whether because of Arthur’s new position or Lancelot, Arthur didn’t know. He did know that he didn’t like this added, ever persistent doubt weighing on his shoulders. 

Arthur rolled his neck to avoid the scrutiny and broke out of his thoughts.

“I am going to stop by to tend to my father and then will be in meetings with the council for the rest of the day. You don’t need to attend. Just finish the rest of your duties and you are free to assist Gaius until dinner.”

“I suppose I should thank you for not making me endure the council meetings,” Merlin said in wry tone, lifting off the chainmail.

“Yes, well you have been assuming a lot of responsibility recently. I figure you could use the break.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise at the acknowledgement. Arthur backtracked.

“I mean, if you keep it up, I might think you’re actually trying to do your job.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and Arthur felt something like relief at the normality of this routine. A more comfortable silence took over as Merlin finished up. 

“There,” Merlin said, adjusting the laces and collar of Arthur’s dark blue shirt. He hesitated instead of moving back, staring at his hand on Arthur’s chest.

“Arthur…are you….”

Merlin’s voice faltered as he looked up and they met eyes. The worry was still there, but Arthur didn’t look away this time. He mapped it out instead, looking from Merlin’s furrowed brow to his slightly parted lips, and back up to meet his blue gaze.

There was just something about the way Merlin always looked at him. He wanted to know what it was, to put a name to the way it made him feel, like he was--

A sharp knock on the door broke their gaze just as Leon and Gwaine walked in. Merlin hastily dropped his hand and stepped back, but Arthur remained where he was watching Merlin even as the other man looked away.

He heard Gwaine and Leon give their greetings and gave them an absentminded nod. Arthur was not going to let Merlin go so easily.

“Merlin, you were going to say something?”

Merlin gave a nervous smile and moved to collect the discarded armour. “I just, uh, wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else? Because if not, I will just be taking these to polish and checking in with Gaius as you said.”

Trying to mask his disappointment at the evasive answer, Arthur gestured Merlin away. “Yes of course, go ahead. Just make sure my armour is ready for tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded and made to leave. Gwaine looked between the two of them with narrowed eyes and reached out to catch Merlin’s shoulder as he walked by.

“Hold on Merlin, I’ll walk you out. There’s something I wanted to run by you.” He lifted some of the armour from the pile in Merlin’s hands and the two stepped out into the corridor. 

Arthur turned his attention toward Leon. He moved towards his desk, rifling through the papers he needed to prepare for his upcoming meetings.

“Leon, let the council know the merchants visiting from Brechea will be joining our first council session to provide their thoughts on the trading establishments. I will be along shortly once I have seen to my father.”

“Yes Sire, of course. Lord Fendric also wanted to let you know his daughter has fallen ill and needs to care for her. He came by earlier to give me his reports on the northern crops and can meet with you later to see what questions you have.” Leon said, handing over the reports.

Arthur took a moment to flip through them. “This should be fine. I will make sure to stop by myself and send Gaius to check on her recovery.”

The two continued to discuss the upcoming council business until all the updates had been addressed and pertinent papers gathered.

“Alright then. Was there anything else?” Arthur squinted at the grain storage markers trying to make out whether Sir Laketh had written a seven or a two. Maybe he should have kept Merlin around today after all. He had a knack for translating some of the truly abysmal writing of the older councilmembers.

Realizing Leon had not answered, Arthur looked up to find Leon staring uneasily at the door.

“Leon?”

His second in command looked back at him. “Yes sire, there is actually one more thing I wanted to discuss. Not directly related to council matters, a bit more personal.”

Arthur tensed, immediately alert. “Is everything alright? Is it your sister?” 

“No, Anna is well, as am I, thank you Sire.” Leon took a long breath seeming to carefully consider his next words, only making Arthur more apprehensive. Could no one be straight forward with him these days?

“Actually, it’s more about you. I am—or rather, we are concerned about the amount of pressure you have been under lately.”

Arthur’s concern melted into something akin to exasperation. “Well yes Leon, I am acting as Prince Regent. The position does tend to come with some pressure.”

“Of course, Sire, and you are handling the circumstances extraordinarily well. You have been leading with great strength and wisdom, doing your father proud I am sure. We, the knights that is, want to express how much we support you. I hope you know you have mine and their loyalty through anything.”

“Well, thank you Leon I appreciate that.” Arthur felt a little mollified. There was a reason he considered this man to be one of his closest friends and confidants. He had always looked up to Leon, and it was reassuring to hear him express his support.

Still, Leon remained looking at him intently and a bit anguished, as if he had something more to say. Arthur raised his eyebrows expectantly, but the silence continued, growing more awkward. Arthur was about to give up and leave when Gwaine returned.

“Well? Did you tell him?” Gwaine called from the door.

“I was working up to it.” 

Gwaine strolled up to them with a scoff, giving Leon a friendly pat on the shoulder. “We would be here for the next two weeks at your rate. Here’s the deal, Princess, we have taken it upon ourselves, as the knights of the round table, to establish a kind of tradition to help keep up morale. Knight’s nights at the tavern if you may.”

“I would not expect your traditions to take place anywhere else Gwaine,” Arthur said dryly. He ignored the pang of unhappiness at this news, brushing it off as a reaction to his knights keeping things from him and not jealously that he wasn’t included.

“I thought royalty knew better than to interrupt. Anyway, with recent events and all, not to mention your little speech at training today, we feel it’s time for another outing. We’re heading out tonight.”

“That’s all very well Gwaine. I assume you’re not asking for my permission.”

“Of course not Princess. But we wanted to let you know we will be taking Merlin with us.”

Arthur blinked incredulously.

“Merlin.”

“Yes, Merlin. He plays kind of an important role in the whole…tradition,” Gwaine continued, waving his hand in a vague gesture. Leon nodded unhelpfully at his side.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I always knew you were the reason he started frequenting the taverns more.”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you could mean,” Gwaine said with a grin. “The point is after a couple drinks, Merlin tends to become…well, let’s just say he’s good at raising morale.”

Arthur gave Gwaine an extremely dubious look, only to be met with Gwaine suggestively raising his eyebrows.

“Morale,” he deadpanned.

Leon gave a sigh. “Gwaine, I don’t think—”

“Look, the reason we are telling you is because we thought you could use some of…this morale yourself. As it happens, we all head over to my quarters after a good amount of ale, and if you want to come by, discreetly of course, we think it would be good for you.”

Arthur stared blankly.

Taking this as a positive sign, Gwaine went on. “But don’t just barge in, because some of the greener knights still get nervous around you. For reasons _I_ don’t understand, but we don’t want to ruin the night for them.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to come by your rooms, no, _hide_ in your rooms in order to see my manservant drunk because it will make me feel better about the responsibility to the kingdom and the impending threat Morgana poses?”

Gwaine flashed a grin and clapped his hands together. “Yes, exactly!”

Arthur turned to Leon with disbelief. “Leon?”

He was met only with a shrug. “I wish there was a better way to explain it.”

Arthur blinked twice, gathered his papers, and walked out on his two supposedly best knights of Camelot.

* * *

The rest of Arthur’s day went by relatively smoothly after that. That was of course, with the exception of his visit to his father’s chambers, which had only further dampened his spirits.

But no matter how much Arthur tried to keep his mind occupied with the daily business of running a kingdom, it kept wandering off to Gwaine and Leon’s strange invitation. He dismissed any debauched possibilities of “raising morale” as the preposterous ideas they were. He smirked a little at the thought of Merlin singing some song of glory or doing tricks like a court jester, but it died quickly. Arthur couldn’t fathom his manservant being corralled into such high spirits these days. Which left little to no ideas as to what exactly it was that Merlin could possibly do to raise morale. Especially when Arthur doubted Merlin had any of his own to offer. If anything, he hoped his knights might give Merlin some of the confidence they had left in Arthur and the kingdom.

There was no way he was going to take up the invitation. Absolutely no way.

It wasn’t until he saw Guinevere in the halls that he was struck with inspiration.

“Wait, Guinevere. Do you have a moment?”

“Arthur! Is everything alright?

Since Lancelot’s death, Arthur and Guinevere’s relationship had rapidly dissolved. A mix of grief and guilt (on both sides), coupled with a painfully honest and tear-filled (on both sides) conversation the evening after the symbolic funeral pyre, had allowed them both to let go of the idea that there was a romantic future for them. Regardless, they had not yet overcome the lingering awkwardness, and casual conversations had been few and far between.

Arthur was reminded of this as he saw the surprise in Guinevere’s face for having been stopped. He quickly backtracked.

“Yes of course, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt your day, if there’s somewhere you need to be. I was just hoping to ask you a question.”

Guinevere gave her token kind smile. “It’s no trouble at all Arthur, ask away.”

Arthur paused, suddenly uncertain with how to phrase this. “Earlier I was speaking to—what I mean is to say that Gwaine said—I was just wondering if you knew—”

Guinevere waited patiently, visibly relaxing a little at his flustering.

“Have you ever seen Merlin when he has been drinking?” Arthur finally managed to get out.

Gwen’s eyes widened and she gave a startled laugh, eyes shining in a way Arthur had not seen in weeks. The weight of his guilt settled deeper into his chest. “Yes, I suppose I have. He really does not have a head for wine. Or ale for that matter.”

“I am surprised he has a head at all sometimes.”

Guinevere laughed again lightly and shook her head.

“So, when he’s been drinking, does Merlin do anything particularly noteworthy?”

“What do you mean? You must have seen Merlin when he’s had too much yourself. I know for a fact you’ve shared drinks sometimes late into the evening before.”

“On occasion yes. But earlier Gwaine implied something that made me think there was something I’ve been missing.”

At this, Gwen’s smile became softer and she looked off distantly to as if remembering. “I suppose there are times where he…well it’s more the way he speaks. It’s um…what did Gwaine say exactly?”

“Something about raising the knight’s morale.”

There was her laugh again. He had missed it. “Yes, I suppose it would.”

“What would? What could he possibly do? Besides make a spectacle of himself. Entertaining the knights, I could understand, but I got the impression it wasn’t as simple as that.”

Gwen hummed thoughtfully. “You know how Merlin sometimes has a certain, sage way of talking about things? Well, he can get a certain way talking about…”

She hesitated and trailed off, staring at Arthur.

“About what?” Arthur prompted.

Gwen sighed and looked down. “About…Camelot, I suppose.”

Arthur nodded, a little suspicious. He wasn’t convinced. “Thank you, Guinevere.” 

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Arthur made his way back to his chambers from a visit to Lord Fendric’s home. His daughter had been improving since taking Gaius’ concoction, but she still remained quite frail although with a fight in her eyes. She had reminded him of Morgana, on those days her nightmares had been particularly bad.

He gave a tired sigh and rubbed his neck. Gods, he was exhausted. Arthur spared a hope that Merlin had drawn him a hot bath before remembering he had given him leave until morning. Merlin had asked him rather tentatively when he dropped off dinner if he could be excused early. Annoyed by his hesitance, Arthur had dismissed him and lost most of his appetite.

Speaking of which, Merlin was probably at the tavern now. Accompanied by the knights, if Gwaine and Leon were to be believed. He shook his head remembering their strange conversation. Not the strangest thing he’d heard from Gwaine if he was being honest, but Leon? Leon was too honest to support something that did not have basis in truth. Combined with his earlier conversation with Guinevere, frankly it all left Arthur more than a little curious.

Arthur paused by the stairs. Gwaine’s quarters were just a little further down this corridor. It wouldn’t hurt to just walk by just to see if they were back from the tavern yet. 

He started down the corridor. Gwaine’s door was slightly ajar, but Arthur didn’t hear any voices coming from within. He pushed the door further open. Arthur stepped into the narrow entryway that opened into a larger room which accommodated Gwaine’s bed and belongings. Someone had been by to light the candles in the room but there were no signs of life otherwise. No drunk knights and definitely no drunk Merlin.

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his brow feeling more than a little ridiculous. Let his knights find their morale with his manservant. What did he care, he had a million other matters to attend to as it was. He was a prince and a knight. Snooping was entirely beneath him.

With a resolute nod, Arthur turned to leave and immediately froze with a hand on the door. He could hear faint sounds of slaughter and clamors from down the hall, and they appeared to be getting louder with each passing second. The knights were headed to Gwaine’s after all. Down the only hallway out of Gwaine’s room. If he left now, they were certain to spot him in the corridor, and then the questions and awkwardness would ruin their comradery or whatever like Gwaine had implied, and worst of all Merlin would probably cock his head and give him that _despondent look--_

Giving up any sense of a princely moral high ground, Arthur panicked and twirled around looking for an escape. After a half-second of considering the consequences of flinging himself out of the window, he caught sight of the wardrobe right by the door and flung its door open. Arthur shoved himself in alongside some sparsely hung clothes and strewn hunting gear. He only just managed to shut the door when Gwaine shoved open his door and the knights began to collapse into his chambers. Arthur held his breath and remained perfectly still.

“—I don’t know how you managed to get her to visit you in the dungeons—”

“I’m telling you it was the stable boy that found her not knowing she was _faking_ her death —”

“—which is when I yelled ‘DON’T YOU DARE DROP THAT CHICKEN PERCIVAL’–”

“No, I don’t think you can make your own ale from _acorns_ of all things—”

Arthur found himself straining to make out Merlin’s voice amidst the group’s raucous laughter and overlapping chatter. He finally caught his servant’s low chuckle and let out the breath he was holding.

Arthur relaxed further when he heard sounds of chairs scraping and the men settling down. Presumably the knights had moved fully into Gwaine’s chambers. He shifted in the darkness of the wardrobe to his side. Then, ever so slowly, Arthur nudged one of the wardrobe door’s slightly open.

From his vantage point in the wardrobe, Arthur had a full view into the main room.

Baudwin and Elyan had collapsed into the chairs around the table. Percival had lowered himself onto the ground by the foot of the bed, while a few of the older knights claimed the bed itself. Leon claimed the armchair. Everyone else sprawled on the floor, Merlin and Gwaine included.

Jugs of what smelled like spiced mead were littered throughout the room and some of the knights had taken to filling cups and passing them around.

“It’s good to see you smiling Percival. You’ve been looking absolutely terrible these days.” Elyan remarked, as he passed the man a tankard.

“Ah so you admit I generally look quite good,” the larger man said with a grin. Elyan let out a sharp laugh and stuck out his tongue out childishly in response.

Arthur tried to tune into the conversations but was distracted by the sight of a lax and rather happy Merlin. Sat on the floor between Gwaine and the armchair Leon was in, Merlin appeared to be taking sips of whatever cup he held that he was meant to pass on to a knight. His neckerchief had been loosened. It slipped low enough the dip in his collarbones was visible. Merlin’s cheeks were flushed pretty from the drinks, in a way that made Arthur shift uncomfortably in the wardrobe. He seemed more at ease than Arthur had seen him in a long time.

Distracted by the way Merlin licked his lips after a particularly large sip of mead, Arthur entirely missed whatever question Leon asked that led to the group quieting down. His attention shifted only when Baudwin gave a particularly heavy sigh amidst the quiet room before beginning to respond.

“It’s just… what _am_ I fighting for? I used to fight and train with aspirations to become a knight. I pushed myself every day to be worth of this great honor. When I first became a knight, I was overjoyed and that fueled me for a while. But now, especially after everything that has happened…. I don’t know. I know fighting for Camelot should be giving me the same energy. But I almost feel as though feels as though at times like this when things have settled, despite what threats remain, I can’t help but feel Camelot doesn’t need me." 

Some of the younger knights nodded in agreement, while their seniors looked at each other with smiles, chuckling amongst themselves. Arthur swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat at this honest declaration.

“See, that is where you are going wrong,” Elyan said with a smile. “You’re still trying to fight for Camelot when really, you are ready to fight for Albion.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded through the room.

“Hear, hear,” Sir Pellinor bellowed. Most of the veteran knights raised their cups in a drunken salute. Two of the knights were too enthusiastic with their cheers and toppled over onto each other, one falling off the bed. Arthur scowled a little as he watched Gwaine use the distraction to grab a jug and refill Merlin’s cup yet again.

Merlin looked down at his suddenly full cup with a bewildered expression. He shrugged to himself and took another sip.

Baudwin just looked puzzled. “Albion? What do you mean? Isn’t it our duty to fight for our lands of Camelot?”

“Of course, but we find it always helps to fight for something greater. To fight for the future of our lands and our people.” Elyan explained. Then his voice raised a little louder. “Isn’t that right, _Gwaine_?”

Gwaine turned his head away from Merlin and gave a conspiratorial grin to the rest of the room, before heaving an overdramatic sigh. “I don’t know _Elyan_. I’m not sure Albion has much of a future the way things are going.”

Merlin, who had seemed rather uninvested in the conversation thus far from Arthur’s perspective, sharply turned his head at that, and shoved hard at Gwaine’s shoulder, toppling himself over more than the knight.

“Albion does indeed have a future, one greater than you can even imagine!” he proclaimed loudly.

Gwaine gave a showy wink to the room. Arthur furrowed his eyebrows at the obviously well-rehearsed set up that the drunken Merlin did not seem to clue in on.

“ _Really now_. Who could possibly lead us into this great future?”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open and his eyes grew wide with complete indignation. “Why, Arthur of course!”

Gwaine was doing a good job holding back laughter while simultaneously trying to look skeptical. He rubbed his jaw and raised an eyebrow. “ _Arthur?_ You really think that Princess can be the future of Albion?”

As much as it hurt, Arthur had to admit he agreed with this statement. He wasn’t sure where this was going.

“I don’t think it, I know it!” Merlin announced, waving his tankard around so the mead sloshed dangerously. Leon rescued the cup out of his hands, however Arthur’s relief turned to dismay as he watched his best knight fill the cup again before handing it back to his raving manservant.

Merlin was scowling at Gwaine in a way that was likely meant to be threatening but really made him look like an angry kitten, much to Arthur’s amusement. The other knights seemed to agree going by the chuckles around the room.

“Arthur is destined to be Albion’s greatest king. He will unite not just our lands but our people through his strength and leadership. Albion’s future is bright with justice and quality.”

Merlin’s voice was reverential. Slowly, a hush settled over the room.

“There will soon come a day where the honor Arthur himself sees in every man, woman, and child will be reflected in the laws and rulings of these lands. A day where we will all stand truly equal to one another. Even now, Arthur is a true reflection of the beauty of these lands.”

The veneration in Merlin’s voice grew as if he was describing the beauty of a sunset as he watched one.

“This compassion will shine through to the rulers of each of the five kingdoms. The lands of Albion will not be united solely through the violence of war, but by the benevolence and decency that guides Arthur’s heart. He has been a true prince, and he will serve us as an even truer King. The day will soon come when My King will unite not just the land Albion but our people and rule over the greatest kingdom we will ever know. His honesty and bravery will bring all of us into a future of prosperity, of freedom, of peace. The future of Camelot, the future of Albion all shines with the brilliance of a thousand stars.”

From the awe in Merlin’s voice, it felt as though each of those stars were shining there in the room. He glowed as though he was looking into the future in that very moment. Even his eyes seemed to shine golden. The room remained still and quiet, Merlin’s words sinking in.

"Oh," said Sir Baudwin from the table.

"Oh," whispered Arthur from the wardrobe.

* * *

After a quick and quiet getaway from the wardrobe, which was due entirely to Arthur’s extremely adept abilities of stealth and not at all related to Sir Bors’ slip of hand that resulted in a loud and distracting shattering of some of the ceramic jugs, Arthur arrived back in his chambers. He stood in the middle of the room feeling slightly lost and more than a little overwhelmed. Merlin’s words echoed in his mind. The reverential mood of the room had only been broken by a stray drunken hiccup which had broken the tension and conversation resumed as normal if a little cheerier.

Arthur was still lost in thought some time later when an uneven knock came from the door followed by a slight thud. Confused, Arthur went over and opened it, only to have an extremely inebriated Merlin fall into him.

“Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed, clutching tightly to Arthur’s shoulders, unconcerned with this loss of balance. He beamed up at the Prince Regent. “I was just looking for you.”

“And somehow you found me. In my chambers.” Arthur replied wryly, ignoring how his heart clenched at the sight of a smile he hadn’t seen up close in months.

It didn’t help that he was very aware how a drunk Merlin was even more flushed and lovely up close than he had suspected observing him meters away from a wardrobe.

“Come in, you disaster of a manservant.” Arthur muttered. “Before someone sees you and the whole castle thinks it’s acceptable for all servants to drunkenly harass royalty in the middle of the night.” He half-dragged, half-shoved Merlin in so that he could shut and lock the door.

“Arthur I should---I mean you---Gwaine said—or wait was it Leon--that—”

Arthur disregarded Merlin’s stammers entirely in favor of steering the man over to the bed. 

“You are drunk.”

Merlin blinked. “Am I?”

“I am not going to have this conversation with you while you are drunk. You barely make enough sense as it is without having your brain clouded by ale.”

Merlin pouted. “What conversation?” 

Arthur’s response was to shove him down onto the bed. Merlin lost balance and sprawled out, legs dangling, and watched suspiciously as Arthur kneeled down in front of him and began unbuckling his boots.

“What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

There was a moment of silence as Merlin struggled to right himself. He floundered for a second, grabbing Arthur’s head to steady himself. Arthur rolled his eyes and continued undoing the hundreds of buckles encasing Merlin’s feet.

“ _Why_ are you taking off my boots?” Merlin asked a little petulantly. “I need them. To go places.”

“We both know you won’t make it back to your room without some kind of accident. And when you end up bruised and broken, I am the one who is going to have to listen to your endless complaints.” Arthur didn’t mention that Merlin hadn’t complained much about anything in the recent weeks, and actually it would be quite a relief to hear any such grumbling.

Merlin hummed in what Arthur decided to take as agreement and began to absentmindedly pet Arthur’s head where his hand still rested. Arthur pretended he didn’t notice and tugged off one of the boots. If he took extra care in taking off the other boot and both socks in order not to dislodge Merlin’s hand, well, no one around was sober enough to notice.

Then it was time to get up and get them both into bed.

Yet Arthur remained, fixed on his knees as Merlin ran his hands softly through his hair.

After a long moment, Merlin’s hand slowed to a stop but stayed entangled in Arthur’s hair.

“Arthur? Is everything alright?”

No, Arthur wanted to yell, nothing is alright.

Instead he gathered his strength and stood up, dislodging Merlin’s hand and brushing off his knees.

“Why wouldn’t it be? Now come on, up you get. Take that mess of a neckerchief off before you suffocate in your sleep.”

“You’re the mess,” Merlin mumbled with an unfocused glare. Arthur stared back, the side of his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile at the disheveled state his manservant was in.

Merlin eventually acquiesced with a grumble and started fumbling with the knotted garb.

Satisfied, Arthur turned to his dresser to grab his own nightclothes. He changed quickly and then moved to fill a cup with water before walking back towards the bed. He stepped over the brown jacket strewn on the floor and around the neckerchief in the same state to place the water on the table by the bed next to Merlin. His manservant was now just a tuft of hair sticking up from underneath the covers. Arthur let himself just look for a moment but stepped way before the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair got too strong.

Arthur walked back towards the other side of the bed and slipped under the covers, careful not to disturb Merlin. He lay on his back hyperaware of the man next to him.

This wasn’t the first time they had shared Arthur’s bed like this, although it was the first time in a while. It didn’t happen often but over the years there was the occasional night where the two of them had stayed up late working on one of Arthur’s speeches or some other official matter, even just talking by the fire. The first few times Merlin had just fallen asleep with his head on the table or in a chair, and Arthur had just pushed him over to the bed where they had both collapsed.

It had been a long time since they had talked so long into the night.

The heavy feeling from earlier settled back into Arthur’s chest. He lay there, staring up at the canopy.

The bed shifted and Arthur looked over to see Merlin wriggling his face out of the depths of the blanket. His heavy-lidded eyes found Arthur’s and he gave a sleepy smile. Merlin’s arm snaked out and his hand settled just so his fingertips were gently skimming Arthur’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” Merlin murmured.

His eyes closed, and he succumbed to drunken slumber.

Arthur stayed awake; his heart caught in his throat.

* * *

Hours later, when dawn was still an idea that had not yet arisen, Merlin began to stir. Arthur watched as he shifted around, slowly blinking his eyes open. Merlin smacked his lips wincing at the dryness of his mouth and turned over to grasp at the cup Arthur had left at his side. He sat up and chugged the water quickly. Merlin replaced the cup, wiping his mouth with his sleeve to catch what trickled down his chin.

He turned back and looked down at Arthur. Arthur met his gaze silently and didn’t move to get up. Merlin seemed to take this as a sign to lower himself back down to the bed.

The two of them lay there, curled up on their sides, quietly looking at each other. Once or twice their breaths caught, as if about to speak, but the moment would pass, and the silence continued unbroken. Arthur carefully took in his manservant’s mussed black fringe, the slight arch of each eyebrow, the delicate bridge of his nose. His eyes trailed along the sharp hollows of Merlin’s cheekbones down to his soft, full lips and sharply looked back up again into the blue eyes gazing calmly back at him.

Maybe it was that calm that pushed him to finally speak.

“I thought—I thought that you had started to hate me.”

Merlin’s eyes widened.

“ _Hate_ you? Arthur—"

Arthur pressed on. He had opened the dam on his thoughts and there was no going back now.

“I didn’t just think it, I knew it,” Arthur continued helplessly. “These past few weeks—since Lancelot—I felt that this was it. You’ve always shown such faith in me Merlin. At times when even the whole of Camelot seemed against – you would show me, tell me even, again and again of your complete loyalty and trust in me. In my leadership as Prince of Camelot. I never feel as though I have deserved yo—your fidelity. But after this, after losing Lancelot? When it was my sacrifice to make? You, who threw yourself to the Dorocha to save me, and I couldn’t even save Lancelot.”

Arthur’s voice cracked and he paused to gather himself with a shaky breath. He didn’t realize he had clenched his hands into fists until he felt Merlin reach over and grasp his right hand, tugging it loose with his long fingers. Arthur gave in and turned his hand so that Merlin could interlace their fingers together. Arthur swallowed against the hope he felt rising in his chest. He stared at their intertwined fingers to avoid meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“I admit at first, I was so busy grieving, of letting go of Guinevere and realizing I was losing the confidence of my knights, that it took me a while before I realized I had lost you too. I took it for granted. After all these…casualties, the death and destruction under my rule that you have stood by me through… I realized then that this one had been the breaking point. How could you possibly stand by me as another friend loses his life for me?”

Merlin squeezed his hand harder. 

“Only now…” The words stuck in his throat. Arthur wasn’t sure how to continue. He wasn’t sure how to explain what he had overheard last night, or how he had heard it. He wasn’t even entirely sure Merlin would remember what he had said or at the very least aware of the effect it had on Arthur and the knights.

 _You spoke of_ _a golden age for Albion with a beauty I have barely let myself dream about in these dark times_ , he wanted to say. _Do you really believe all that to be true?_

“Only now I’m not so sure,” was what came out instead.

He forced himself to look up. His heart stuttered as he saw the dampness in his eyes mirrored twofold in Merlin’s face, where a few stray tears had escaped. He ran a thumb over the back of Merlin’s hand in apology.

“Oh Arthur, I’ve never stopped--” Merlin’s voice caught with emotion. Arthur stayed quiet and kept rubbing calming circles into his hand.

“I’ve never lost faith in you,” he started again. “I’ve been worried about you. Losing Lancelot was…unexpected and painful. Or rather I should have expected it and that’s part of what made it so painful. He knew I had wanted to sacrifice myself, and I should have known—” Merlin frustratedly wiped his tears away.

“I am devastated to have lost such a good friend. And it’s true I couldn’t bear to be around you afterwards. But Arthur.” Here, Merlin paused until Arthur met his gaze again from where it had fallen. “It’s not for the reasons you think.”

“Every time I saw you, I felt, oh Arthur, I felt such relief. I _feel_ such relief. Relief that it was Lancelot and not you who walked into the veil. But worse, relief that it hadn’t been me. That I got to stay here, with you. That he gave me that gift.

“I hated myself for feeling so relieved when I wanted to be angry and upset at his sacrifice. When I wanted not to understand what he had done for me, for Gwe—for all of us. But I just felt grateful and lonely. Grateful because he gave us more time, and lonely because I lost the only person who really understood.”

“Understood what?” 

Merlin took a deep breath, his next words spilling out like a confession. “Understood how much I would give up for you Arthur.”

Arthur wet his lips. “Because of your love for your king?” he asked, tentatively, thinking of Merlin’s avowals from the night before.

Merlin shook his head slowly. “You’re not king yet, you know,” he said weakly, the jibe falling flat.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He unclasped their hands to drag his up Merlin’s arm to grasp just above the man’s elbow. He shifted closer until they were almost nose to nose.

“Merlin.”

Merlin swallowed thickly. Arthur’s gaze flickered down briefly to his throat before meeting Merlin’s darkened eyes.

“Because of my love for you, Arthur.”

Arthur leaned in and kissed him. The first kiss was chaste, a brief yet firm press of closed lips. Arthur pulled back but had barely taken a breath before Merlin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back in. The second kiss was deeper, Arthur parting his lips so to take one of Merlin’s in between his own, running his hand to the small of Merlin’s back. As they broke and came together for a third kiss, Arthur licked the seam of Merlin’s lips and relished Merlin’s moan before he opened up and the kiss got remarkably wetter.

Somewhere between the fifth and sixth kiss, Arthur paused and leaned away, breathing heavily. Merlin tried to follow him and gave a groan when Arthur kept him back. He slid his hand to cup Merlin’s face gently, taking in Merlin’s deliciously flushed and now slightly annoyed expression.

“I feel the same way,” Arthur whispered softly. He dragged his thumb across those bruised and ruined lips, delighting at the hitch in the other man’s breath at the fond declaration.

Then Merlin cocked his head and abruptly shoved Arthur onto his back before clambering on top of him, muffling Arthur’s surprised laughter with another insistent kiss.

And another.

And another, until the number of kisses had become countless in nature and a few more articles of clothing had joined Merlin’s jacket where it lay discarded on the floor from the night before, until there was finally joy to replace some of the grief that had taken over their lives.

* * *

Sir Baudwin ducked low under the sword’s blade, and swiftly turned back for a counterattack, the blunt of his blade hitting just at the neck of the other man’s armour.

Sir Leon yielded and the blade dropped.

“Excellent job, Sir Baudwin. You keep fighting like that and we will be celebrating the union of the five kingdoms in no time,” Leon said with a wink, clasping the other man’s forearm.

“Thank you,” Baudwin beamed. “I’ve had good teachers. And a recent bout of inspiration.” He knelt down to grab one of the waterskins. “Speaking of which, will Prince Arthur be joining us this afternoon?”

Leon glanced away uncomfortably, much to the younger knight’s confusion. “I believe his Highness had some urgent council matters to attend to. I am sure he will come by if his schedule allows. Pair up with Sir Pellinor next, with the mace this time.”

Baudwin gave a perplexed nod at the dismissal and moved towards the rack of weapons to switch out his sword.

“Urgent council matters? Is that what we’re calling it now,” Gwaine called out delightedly where he was lounging in the grass. Evidently, he was using the Prince’s absence as a chance to sit the training out. Leon walked over reluctantly.

“Calling what? And where is Arthur anyhow?” Elyan asked as he dropped down next to Gwaine for a break, wiping the sweat from his brows. Percival followed a step behind, throwing his weapon to the ground.

Gwaine waggled his eyebrows with a grin. “Getting his morale boosted.”

Elyan stared back blankly and turned toward Leon who sighed resignedly.

“We may have delivered a drunken Merlin to his chambers last night and hoped for the best.” Leon said scratching at his beard. “And we may be assuming that their lack of appearance outside Arthur’s chambers so far today means they were finally able to…find comfort in each other.”

“You are full of some interesting euphemisms today Leon.”

“I should have never agreed to carry out this plan with you.”

“You love me. And you were just as sick of them dancing around each other and doubting themselves as I was, admit it.”  
  
Leon admitted nothing of the sort.

His expression when Arthur and Merlin came bounding down the hill together, shoulders brushing and a remarkable lightness in their steps, however, may have given him away just a bit.

Merlin took over a groaning Gwaine’s spot on the grass as the knight got up to join in the training now that the Prince had made an appearance. Arthur made a few rounds around the field, adjusting techniques and heavily praising the fresh energy and earnestness of his knights.

Meanwhile, Merlin was confused by the groundswell of thanks and appreciation he was receiving from each knight, as they trotted over to him during breaks in between their sessions.

“Do you know what that’s all about?” he asked Percival curiously, when the larger man came by for some water.

Percival shrugged. “Not a clue.”

Percival watched as Arthur circled back around to join Merlin on the grass, tugging teasingly at his neckerchief, and grinning when Merlin batted him away with a scowl that did nothing to masquerade his cheer. As he took in his friends and fellow knights, he smiled, thinking of how Lancelot would have loved to see all this.

Albion was nice and all, but personally, moments like these were exactly what Percival fought for.


End file.
